Black Coffee Mondays
by 14CookiesGone
Summary: AU in which Sam is a lawyer who passes by a coffee shop on his way to work, which has an interesting specials board outside.


_So like, hey! I'm testing this idea out because I saw a post like it on tumblr and I just had to take the idea and expand on it an make it into my own little ficlet. I'm not exactly sure how long this is going to end up, but at the minute I'm thinking maybe a two or three shot. But, let me know what you think, and whether or not you guys think I should continue! Also, work on LMSHYB has not stopped, it's just slowed. I've hit a bit of a block because I don't necessarily want to finish it, but I know it needs rounding off and I hate that stage in my work so I've been neglecting it in favour of this, but don't fear, I'm semi back on track. _

* * *

Sam hated Mondays. For as long as he could remember, his brother Dean had said that Sam behaved like the devil on Monday mornings. It wasn't only due to the fact that he had to go back to work after a restful weekend, it was also because he was probably one of the most anti-social people that he had ever known. And that was saying something considering Dean's best friend was a bottle of something alcoholic, and his favourite hobby was to tinker with his beloved car. But Sam was only different in the respect that he had a different job. Unfortunately for him, it meant an early morning commute into the office, which he never particularly enjoyed, but Monday's were always the worst. It was down to the fact that there were working mothers exchanging stories of how wonderful their child had been at some type of sport or musical performance over the weekend; young businessmen boasting to anyone who would listen, or anyone who could hear, willingly or not, about how many girls they scored with when out in the clubs. Or else it was school kids bursting with news about god knows what. Every morning was loud, but Monday's were always the worst. Sm was usually able to block out the noise, but he had been up late the previous evening helping Dean fix an intricate bit on the engine to his car, and he had simply lost track of time. So Sam's mood was foul, owing to the fact that he was yet to have any caffeine in his system, and that he was unable to block out the shrill laughter of the small brunette pre-teen who was chatting animatedly to someone on the other side of her. Sam sighed and closed his eyes. Luckily he was getting off at the next stop, and there was a small coffee shop on the way to his office. It was just a case of getting there.

Although he didn't often frequent the coffee shop, Sam always read the noticeboard outside as he passed. Sometimes it listed the days specials underneath the name of the serving barista, sometimes the weather, and sometimes a film quote. It was never the same in the evening as it was in the morning, and Sam found that it often brightened his mood to read something funny on the sign as he passed. That morning, the sign read:

_'Today your barista is Castiel. For your drink today, I recommend that you also purchase an umbrella. It's going to rain later.'_

Sam's lips twitched in a half smile as he pushed open the door of the small café.

"Do you even sell umbrellas?" Sam asked as he stepped up to the counter before placing his order. The dark haired barista laughed before turning to the espresso machine.

"Sorry, we just sold out. But you should be okay, it's not meant to rain outside of office hours." Castiel, as his name badge read, raked his eyes up and down Sam's suit clad body none too subtly, and looked thoughtful for a moment. "Though a bit of rain could probably brighten up that suit a little." Sam could feel himself blushing slightly, though it wasn't something that usually happened in the presence of another man. "I mean, you look like you're headed off to a funeral, not the office." Sam released a small chuckle.

"How do you know I'm not?" he asked, watching the sure movements of Castiel's hands as he fixed Sam's drink in a to go cup.

"You walk past this shop every business day, morning and evening. Occasionally you stop in, but most of the time you just read the sign and carry on walking. You tend to wear a black suit on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, and a navy pinstripe on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Your tie is always toned to the colour of shirt you are wearing, and you wear odd socks without fail. We in here notice things about people, and I have an exceptional memory," Castiel explained, almost all in one breath. "You're dressed for a Monday meeting, which you'll probably now be running late to prepare for." Castiel held the styrofoam cup out to Sam, who was still in shock about how much the barista seemed to know about him, before he glanced at the clock on the wall.

"You're right," he began. "About everything. I'm going to be so late." he placed a handful of coins in the tips jar on the counter, sending Castiel a quick smile, before hurrying out of the shop on his way to work.

The shrill ringing of his desk phone caused Sam to jump, considering the fact that he had almost been asleep. The files he had been attempting to read were, in his opinion, very boring, and he was struggling to keep his mind on his work. Blinking a few times in an attempt to wake up, he picked up the receiver.

"Caine and Winchester," he said automatically. He was so used to answering the office phone in that manner that he had occasionally answered his mobile in the same way, much to Dean's delight. "Sam Winchester speaking."

"Hello Mr Winchester. I'm calling to see how you are progressing with my case. I hadn't heard from you, and you'd promised to call and inform me before the weekend. I hope you've not run into any difficulties." Sam quickly scanned his planner from the previous week, before groaning inwardly and leaning back in his chair.

"I'm sorry Mrs Friar, but I'm afraid that your case isn't as open and shut as you first led me to believe. There has been strong opposition from your husbands lawyers about custody of your son, and I am awaiting a reply from them this morning. I was going to call you after their call had come through." Sam rubbed his eyes as he spoke. He hated divorces. There was always an underlying custody issue, whether it was over children or material possessions, _something_ always came up. Even if it was a simpler case of a wife escaping an abusive husband, there was a dispute over the car, or the house. In all the years Sam had been working as a lawyer, there had never been such a thing as an open and shit case. But he lived in hope.

"What do you mean?" Mrs Friar sounded incredulous, and Sam grimaced, holding the receiver away form his ear, anticipating an onslaught of emotion from his client. "How can they have any opposition over custody of Liam? Surely a child should be with his mother. I have done nothing but care for the boy, whereas Brian only seemed to take an interest when poor Liam was old enough to keep up and play soccer, or go fishing, or catch a ball." Sam rolled his eyes, fighting to keep his professional head on.

"I'm sure that's true, Mrs Friar, but to claim sole custody f an eleven year old, allowing no contact from Mr Friar is what is causing the problem. Perhaps if you were to negotiate some form of shared custody...?" The rest of what Sam was trying to say was drowned out as Mrs Friar interrupted him.

"And allow my son to be under the same roof as his neglectful father and that... that... woman?! Not a chance."

"But Mrs Friar, you also have to take into account your son's own wishes," Sam stated, trying a different tact, trying to get Mrs Friar to see a different angle. It was fruitless.

"He doesn't know what he wants. Liam merely wishes to see his father because he doesn't know any better. And anyway, I'm his mother, and therefore better equipped to look after him than his father and that trollop that he's shacked up with." Sighing inwardly, Sam tried once more to reason with Mrs Friar.

"Mr Friar is offering, through contact with his lawyers, that he sees Liam at weekends and in part of the school holidays. Couldn't you allow your decision to be swayed in that stead? It's only a proposed 150 days a year."

"150 days too many," Mrs Friar replied angrily, and slammed down the phone. Sam sighed and replaced his own receiver. It wasn't even lunchtime yet, and he'd already had enough of Monday.

After a quick lunch, Sam set about his afternoon correspondence. Much of it was just trivial enquiries from clients about their cases, which he responded to briefly and to the point, although there was the odd occasion that required a more in depth response. There there was the firms circular, which was sent to everybody in the office, which Sam tended to ignore. There were no messages from any other firms about open cases, which relieved him, as Monday afternoon was not a time where he wanted to be typing responses as to why a husband wanted both family vehicles when he couldn't even operate a stick shift. He got the occasional message from Dean from time to time, though it was invariably a joke which he would be unable to repeat in polite company. Today though, the message from Dean held a different tone.

"_Hey bro,"_ the message read. _"I know you'll read this message this afternoon, and that you'll probably get this before the text that I sent you as you never check your phone -"_ this was true _"- but I had a call from Dad and he's popping in tonight. So unless you want the third degree I'd suggest maybe not coming over. I know I asked if you could help with Baby, but I guess she'll just have to wait one more night. You know the friction Dad causes between us all. I'll give you a call later if I don't hear back from you. Later, bro."_ Sam sighed as he clicked the reply button on the message, though it was half from relief. He was glad that Dean had warned him about their father's visit, as John and Sam often clashed over the most seemingly insignificant of things. John disapproved of Sam's desire to become a lawyer, and his inability to be more 'masculine' was also a sore spot. John was into the great outdoors; camping, hunting and sports – a passion Dean shared along with an affinity for motors. Sam, on the other hand, preferred books to bears, and offices to outdoors. He wouldn't necessarily call himself the black sheep of the family, but John made no secret of the fact that he preferred Dean out of the two boys. Sending a short response, Sam closed down his computer and packed his bag. He was going home early. Monday had just been too much for him this week.

Having forgotten Castiel's words from that morning about it not raining outside of office hours, leaving early meant that Sam stepped out of the office building into an almost torrential downpour. Not having an umbrella, he merely ducked his head and clutched his jacket around him as he made his way towards the station. As he passed by the coffee shop, he contemplated heading inside, but decided against it. Instead, he glanced briefly at the sign outside.

_'Today your barista is Castiel. For your drink today I recommend that you should have stayed inside, I said it was going to rain.'_

Sam smiled at the irony of it, and how the sign almost seemed to be mocking him. It was almost as if Castiel had directed the message at him personally. He glanced inside as he passed, and saw that it was quite busy, and that Castiel was being assisted by another person, though from the distance, Sam didn't recognise who it was. Hurrying along to the station to avoid being outside for any longer than was strictly necessary, he was glad that he was going t avoid the rest of the daily commuters, and instead smiled at the thought of a train ride where he was actually able to sit for the entire duration of the journey.

Stepping off the train at his local stop, Sam was gladdened to see that it had stopped raining. However, the sky didn't look overly promising, and he debated getting a cab to take him home. Eventually deciding against it, he began walking, enjoying the fresh, clear smell that had been caused by the recent rain. Sam liked the 'just rained' smell, where everything smelt wet and decidedly different to how it normally would. It was always the simplest things that gave the most pleasure for Sam, but he wouldn't have it any other way. He was walking on auto pilot along a route he'd known for years now, so he was able to appreciate all of the subtle changes made by the seasons and the weather. He pondered the reasoning behind his father's announced visit, knowing that the older man was probably after something, though for the life of him Sam couldn't think what. Although it wasn't unusual for him to spring news of a visit on Dean so suddenly, it was only when he wanted something in particular that it was such short notice. John tended to drop by and see Dean several times a year, now that Dean was semi tied down by his mechanics job in the local scrapyard, and John was pleased for him. However, those visits usually coincided with holidays such as Easter, Thanksgiving and Christmas. Although John hadn't missed visiting on Dean's birthday every year, Sam's birthday was a different story altogether. Sam still spoke to his dad on his birthday, but it was usually just through an obligatory phone call with an empty promise that John would visit soon, but was so busy at work that he was unable to get the time off. Sam knew that to be bullshit, though he never called his dad out on it, because he was always able to get time off when it concerned Dean. And anyway, it wasn't overly difficult to find substitute bar staff for a couple of days. Not that Sam was actually complaining, because to him, the less he saw his dad, the better. John had a tendency to just be able to get under Sam's skin with little to no effort with his small mannerisms, and Sam could only stand to be in his near vicinity for only a few hours at a time. Dean on the other hand, was more than happy to talk cars, sports, hunting and any other possible topic for days on end with their dad. Dean idolised John, something Sam had never done, or considered doing, in the whole of his life. Sam enjoyed studying – a fact that John seemed to not care about, and one Dean saw fit to mock, though Sam knew Dean was secretly jealous, although he'd never admit it. Dean wasn't unintelligent, he just didn't have the motivation or willpower to study for anything further than his high school diploma. Sam on the other hand had wanted to better himself, and had dreamed from an early age of going off to law school. And that was exactly what he had done. But Sam was still cautious about his dad's sudden visit, and he hoped Dean would be too.

It was late that night when Sam heard his phone ringing from inside of his suit jacket pocket. Heaving himself up off the couch, he briefly registered that it was Dean's name flashing on the screen before he answered.

"You were right, dude," Dean said as soon as Sam put the phone up to his ear. He didn't know how Dean knew where the phone was in Sam's hand, but he never started speaking before Sam was ready to listen. "I know you were thinking that Dad wanted something from me this visit, you don't even have to say _'I told you so'_, because you were right and I'm pissed at him." Sam rolled his eyes, shutting off the television that he had barely been paying any attention to previously.

"So what did he want?" Sam asked, more out of courtesy than actually wanting to know the answer. "Money?"

"He wants Baby," Dean replied angrily. "And he's not having her, finished or not." Sam let his breath hiss out through his teeth slightly, knowing just how much the half finished Impala meant to Dean.

"What's brought this around? And why can't he just get a car for himself?" Although it wasn't unlike John to ask Dean for favours, they never really revolved around Dean's obsession with the black and chrome 1967 Chevy Impala. It was normally the promise of free repairs to his own vehicle that kept John coming back to the salvage yard where Dean worked.

"His car's gone up shit creek without a paddle, and I guess he thought that Baby would be an easy way to get a set of wheels. I don't think he bargained for such a fight on his hands over a car. But he doesn't understand. She's the first car I've ever rebuilt completely from scratch. She's become more than just a car to me." Dean had been drinking, Sam could tell because his older brother never got this emotional unless he had alcohol in his system.

"Just tell him no, Dean. It's not impossible to refuse the guy. I do, quite often," Sam replied. He heard Dean snort down the phone.

"I did refuse him, and do you know what he said?" Dean asked, and then continued talking before Sam had a chance to answer. "I'll tell you what he said. He said 'don't you go turning into that other son of mine who never does a damn thing I ask of him.' And so I told him he could stick his fatherly input in my life up where the sun doesn't shine because both you and I have bent over backwards for that man time after time for no words of thanks. I'm sick of him not appreciating it." Dean's voice was rising in anger, and Sam knew exactly what Dean was going through. John's ungratefulness for his sons talents stemmed back as well to asking Sam for free legal help if he ever got himself into trouble. Sam hadn't exactly flat out refused, but he raised a point about having bills to pay an that had pissed John off. So Sam knew what Dean was going through – though he never expected Dean to have to go through it. Dean normally liked to please their father, though it appeared that this time, John had gone too far.

"So you're cutting him off," Sam questioned, taking more note in the conversation now that there was a chance that he could do something to help his older brother.

"Damn straight," Dean replied. "On the other hand, he's also cutting me off. No more donations to the worthy cause of my bank account. He's disowning me over a car." Sam laughed.

"Welcome to my world. Believe me, you get used to it."

"It just means that progress on Baby's going to grind to a stop, and god dammit Sam, I'm so close to finishing her. But I can't afford the parts, and if I take on extra hours, I'll be too tired to work on her." And so now Sam knew the main intent between Dean's call. He wasn't so different from their father as he believed himself to be.

"I'll see what I can do," Sam said gently.

"Good man, Sammy," Dean replied, hanging up and ending the call. Sam was willing to do a lot of things for his brother, but he just didn't know how he was going to be able to help on this one.

The next morning found Sam running late again, as he had been unable to sleep, due to thinking of ways to help out his brother. Dean had always been there for him when he had been working through law school, and now Sam wanted to do the same for his brother. However, it was still a question of time and finances. Although Sam worked regular office hours and would therefore be able to get down to the salvage yard in good time to work on the car, he didn't really know anything about mechanics – which is why he usually just handed his brother the required parts or tools. However, if Dean was working longer hours, that would be an impossibility. And Sam didn't have the knack for bartering that Dean did when it came to car parts because of his lack of knowledge, which meant that he would probably end up paying through the nose for parts. He was still pondering the issue as he alighted the train in the city, and trudged his usual route to work. He paused briefly outside the coffee shop to read the sign.

_'Today your barista is Lucifer. For your drink today I recommend a tall skinny latte with extra foam.'_

Frowning slightly with disappointment, he continued walking towards his office. Trust this Lucifer guy to be a let down on a morning where he needed the sage words of wisdom from an anecdote. Sam mentally chastised himself. Lucifer was probably just doing his job. It wasn't his fault if the rest of the employees of _'Coffee Heaven'_ didn't take the specials board seriously. Sam wasn't looking forwards to the day ahead, and with his mind already occupied with Dean's troubles, he knew it would be a challenge to keep focused on his cases.

The day passed in almost a bluer for Sam – a whirlwind of new cases, cases that were in the middle of negotiations and cases he had closed. He seemed to have so much open at the minute, that he was surprised he was managing to keep up with it all. And then on top of his work, he still hadn't come up with a solution for Dean. It was looking like although he wanted to help his brother out, he was just not going to be able to. There wasn't any legal implications in what John was doing in taking away funding to his adult son, so in the professional sense, Sam could do nothing. He half had the thought that it was just a car, but Dean had been working on her for so long, that she had almost become an extra member of their family – in a sense. And if Dean said he was close to finishing her, then he would be irritable until he had. Sam decided to call Dean now that he'd had time to calm down, and sober up, since last night.

"Hey bro," Dean answered cheerfully after the second ring. "What's up?"

"I was just wondering how far off finishing Baby you actually are? From the way you were talking last night you're nearly done, but am I just speculating here?" Sam could practically hear Dean's face breaking out into a shit-eating grin down the phone line.

"We've had a rich client drop his car off at the lot, paying us in advance. And he tips well too. Parts for Baby are covered," Dean explained excitedly. "Bobby's letting me work on this dudes car by myself, so I'm then able to claim all the labour, and that's some serious money from him. I can't believe my luck." Sam grinned, Bobby was good at helping Dean out of sticky situations, and the offer was also extended to Sam. They brothers had become like sons to Bobby, something they were proud to admit.

"That's fantastic news. Why the hell can't I catch a break like that? I'm up to my neck in cases at the moment, and nobody pays in advance."

"Dude, you need a hobby. Or a girlfriend," Dean chuckled.

"I resent that," Sam replied, causing Dean to laugh harder.

"Hey, or a boyfriend. I'm not here to judge." Sam rolled his eyes.

"Jerk," he muttered, attempting, but not managing to end the call before Dean replied with a muffled 'bitch'. Dean was half right though, he did need a hobby. But he was perfectly happy on being single though. Or so he thought.


End file.
